F My Life
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Four teens, four different walks of life, one high school. The world really is a small place after all, and, maybe if they can make it through the first day of school, the rest will be a breeze. They each have their own reservations about their ability to survive that first day, let alone the rest of the year. High school AU (heed warnings inside)
1. Waking Up is Hard to Do

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction (Kurt Sutter, et al, do). I am not making a profit, monetary or otherwise, though the writing of this.

* * *

**Actual title is****:** "Fuck My Life"

**A/N:** Written as a birthday gift for epicusernamegoeshere. Sorry that this is so horribly late, I hope that it doesn't disappoint. Thanks go to a friend for reading this and helping reword certain parts as well as encouraging me.

This is a high school AU, set in modern times, and there are some OCs, but they do not play a major role in the story. Features: teen!Juice, teen!Tig, teen!Jax, teen!Opie, teacher!Clay, principal!Unser, school nurse!Tara, mama!Gemma, papa!John. There are revolving points of view, and possibly some typos, please forgive me.

**Warnings:** This story contains mentions of underage sex, drinking, drug use, child abuse, and is not suitable for younger readers. It also contains profanity, teenage drama/angst, and pre-slash (Opie/Jax). This is a WIP.

* * *

Juan Carlos checked out his reflection in the mirror, scowled for effect and narrowed his eyes. Yeah, Tina was right, it was a good look on him.

"Fuck." Tony, his mother's boyfriend jiggled the handle of the bathroom door, making it shake. "You in there, Tina? Hurry up, I gotta take a piss."

Juan ignored the continued jiggling of the handle and the resultant swearing when Tina, Juan's younger sister, didn't answer. His mother's boyfriend was a complete jerkwad. The sooner she kicked him to the curb, the better.

Juan adjusted the collar of his shirt a little higher, hoping that it would help mask the finger-shaped bruises on his neck. He could always let Tina cover them up with some of her makeup, but didn't want someone finding out that he was wearing makeup, even if it was just to cover up Tony's handiwork.

Juan doubted that any of the teachers would notice the fading bruises on his neck. The one on his cheek was almost completely gone, but he couldn't run the risk that some newbie teacher would see the bruises and call social services. He might need to have Tina cover it up after all. He frowned at his reflection, and nearly shouted at Tony to shut the fuck up.

It was his first day of high school, and he had to make a good impression, or he'd get his ass kicked, or worse. He didn't want to be one of those freshmen who spent his first day of high school stuffed inside of a locker, or hiked up a flagpole by his underwear.

This year, Juan was going to go from being a shy, geeky kid to someone that others knew and respected, maybe even feared. He was going to make a name for himself, provided that Tony didn't kill him first.

* * *

"Alex, get your ass out of bed, now!"

Alex groaned and rolled over. Pulling the pillow over his head, he burrowed himself deeper under the covers in an attempt to get more comfortable. It was much too early in the morning, and he'd been rudely awakened from a dream involving a set of twins with jugs he could get lost in and a pair of asses that...

"Alex, if you don't get your ass up and out of bed this minute, I'm going to wake your father, and have him turn you out of it!" his mother threatened.

Alex sat up, and glared at the alarm clock. It was a quarter after six. Too damn early to get up. He heard his mother's heavy footfalls on the steps and scrambled to get up.

"I'm up!" he shouted.

He held his breath until he heard her head back downstairs, and then let it out. His father worked nights, and would not hesitate to pull Alex out of bed, and then give him a beating for upsetting his mother. Alex fell back against his pillows, exhausted, and closed his eyes. The sun was peeking through his blinds and he wondered what the fuck it had to be so happy about at six fifteen in the morning.

Groaning, he gave up on getting a few more minutes of sleep, and pushed himself out of bed. He stumbled from his room and took a quick shower, remembering that today was his first day back at school. He grinned when he thought about harassing the incoming freshmen.

He was a junior this year, though it had been a close call. He'd passed sophomore English by the skin of his teeth. Miss Murphy, it turned out, was a very lonely woman, and Alex was well-versed in the ABC's of sexual intercourse.

Alex rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, and lathered up a handful of soap. He closed his eyes, braced himself against the wall of the shower with one hand, and pictured Miss Murphy in her pink lace bra and underwear.

He bit his tongue and clamped his lips together to keep from making too much noise, and gripped his cock with his other hand. As he soaped the length of his cock, he imagined ramming into his English teacher, the soft little cries that she'd made, the way that her breasts had bounced up and down as he'd fucked her, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks a rosy red.

Alex picked up the pace, squeezing and rubbing and jerking until he came. A picture of his English teacher's mouth open in a silent O, her eyes half-lidded as an orgasm tore through her body was at the forefront of his mind as he came all over the shower walls.

He almost wished that he'd flunked tenth grade, even though he would've been a double repeater, having already repeated his freshman year of high school. Mr. Morrow was not someone Alex was interested in fucking for a grade.

Alex wiped his cum off the tiles and rusted chrome, and finished getting ready for school. This year was going to be a good one. He could feel it in his bones.

* * *

"Fuck," Jax moaned when his alarm started beeping.

He blindly reached out toward his nightstand and knocked the alarm clock off when he tried to hit the snooze button. He could use a few more minutes of sleep. His head felt like it was going to fall off, and his mouth tasted like something had literally died in it.

The beeping grew in intensity, causing Jax's headache to kick up a notch. He leaned over the edge of his bed in an attempt to reach and silence the damn thing, but ended up falling out of bed, landing in a heap on his side.

"You awake, Jax?" his mother called from the other side of his door, and he grunted a response in the negative.

"Turn your damn alarm clock off, honey, some of us don't have to be up at the crack of dawn!" she shouted.

Jax fumbled around for his alarm clock, and finally located it and successfully turned it off. He sighed, flipped over onto his belly, and pushed himself up off the floor. He had the world's worst hangover. He shouldn't have had so much to drink at the end of the summer blast that his best friend, Opie Winston, had hosted.

"Thanks, baby," his mother said, and she shuffled back to her room.

He could hear his father's voice, a quiet rumble of inquiry, though he couldn't make out the exact words, and his mother's tired response. It never ceased to amaze him just how thin their walls were, and yet how little his parents seemed to know about his life.

Today was going to suck. He rubbed his aching head and surveyed his room in the dim light of predawn. Opie would be over in less than half an hour, to pick him up for the first day of their junior year, and all that Jax could do was stare at the pile of clothes that cluttered his bedroom floor, and form half-thoughts.

He pulled a wadded up tee-shirt from underneath his bed, sniffed it. It didn't smell like sweaty sock, or puke, so he tugged it on over his head, and crawled across the floor to find a fresh pair of boxers and jeans, casting aside those that were too smelly.

By the time that Opie honked the horn outside of his window, Jax was dressed and grabbing a handful of pop tarts on his way out the door. He ran a hand through his hair as Opie pulled out onto the street, and gratefully popped the white pills that his friend pressed into his palm.

It was going to be one hell of a year. That is, if he survived the mornings.

* * *

Opie blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and rolled out of bed. He pushed the vestiges of his dream from his mind, and took a deep breath as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

He had just over an hour to make himself presentable, and to rid himself of the more than friendly feelings that he had for his best friend. They'd almost kissed last night, but Jax had passed out, stone cold drunk, and Opie hadn't been drunk enough to take advantage of him, even though Jax had been coming on pretty strong.

"Fuck my life," Opie said, and he trudged out of his bedroom, making a beeline for the shower before his younger sister, Liz, could beat him to it.

"You should'a just kissed him," his little sister, Liz, whispered. She giggled when he scowled at her.

She skirted around him, stealing the bathroom before he could get there. He pounded his fist into the wall, and wondered why the hell he'd bothered to get up so early when they only had one bathroom, and his sister always managed to beat him to it, no matter how early he got there.

"Should'a stopped when they'd had me," he groaned, and he stood in the hall, leaning against the wall, waiting for his turn to use the bathroom, grateful that his kid sister wasn't at an age where she'd started wearing makeup and doing her hair.

The Tellers had four bathrooms in their home, and there was just Jax, his kid brother, Thomas, and his half-sister, Trinity, who'd come to live with them this past summer. She was two years younger than Jax, and would be starting her freshman year.

He'd have to keep an eye on her, make sure that she wasn't targeted by any of the upperclassmen, because Opie knew that it wouldn't occur to Jax. He wasn't used to having a sister to look out for.

"C'mon, Lizzie," Opie called through the door. If he wanted to pick Jax up on time, he'd have to get moving soon, or they'd be late, not that Jax would care if they were late to school, but, still, it was the first day, and it wouldn't be good to start off the first day of their junior year with a tardy. _Fuck, I sound like a goddamn freshman._

"I'll be out in a minute," Liz shouted. "I just have to brush my teeth. Geez, Ope, give me a minute, would ya?"

He could picture her rolling her eyes, and he rolled his eyes and glared at the bathroom door, knowing that it wouldn't do him any good. He'd have to talk with his parents, again, about adding a second bathroom, because when Liz became a genuine teenager, which would be within the next couple of months, he had a feeling that no one was going to be able to get into the bathroom come hell or high water.

True to her word, Liz was out of the bathroom in a minute, smiling and sashaying on her way past her older brother. "It's all yours. You can make yourself look and smell all bee-oo-tiful for Jackson." She batted her eyelashes, and pursed her lips, and Opie wished that his little sister was a little less observant.

He covered his face with his hand, and prayed that he wasn't that obvious to everyone else, or his life, upperclassman or not, would be a living hell. It was bad enough that he had a crush on his best friend, it would be even worse if half the world knew about it.

"Fuck my life," Opie repeated and he closed the door, showered as quickly as possible, and made sure that, yeah, he smelled good and okay, so he made sure that his hair was combed and that he looked alright. So fucking what?

_Maybe the universe could just put me out of my misery and kill me right now, _Opie thought as he pulled up to Jax's driveway and his best friend hopped into the passenger seat smelling like a small brewery and looking like he'd just been spit out of a tornado.


	2. Life Sucks

**Disclaimer:** see initial chapter.

**A/N:** Another round-robin of characters here, to give a little more background, subsequent chapters will focus on the point-of-view of a single character.

**Warnings:** see initial chapter, same apply here. The 'f' word is a favorite of many a teen; at least that has been my experience.

* * *

"Hold still," Tina said. Her lips were pursed, and she was barely an inch from Juan's face as she applied foundation to the fresh bruises on his face. "I'm almost done, stop squirming."

He'd never really been able to sit still, which often got him into trouble at school, and at home. Never been able to keep his mouth from saying something stupid, like this morning when he'd told Tony to keep his panties on as he passed the man on his way from the bathroom.

"You shouldn't've said anything to Tony," Tina scolded him as she dabbed at the bruise that was quickly forming on his cheek. "You'll be lucky if you don't have a black eye."

Juan shrugged, bit his tongue when his sister pressed against the bruise. It hurt, but he was grateful for the pain. Maybe it would remind him not to be so stupid next time, though he doubted it. If physical pain had worked like that for him, he'd have stopped talking altogether long ago.

His foot was bouncing, fingers twitching against his knees. If he didn't leave soon, he'd have to take the shortcut to school, which would put him directly in the path of the neighborhood gang-bangers. They were always bugging him, issuing threats, trying to get him into a gang, or to run something for them. He never did, but it always made him nervous. Sooner or later, something was going to happen, and Juan had a feeling that he'd run all out of chances.

Tina caught his fingers and squeezed. "You gonna be okay?"

Juan shot his sister a quick smile, and nodded. Truthfully, he felt sick to his stomach;his earlier confidence was nearly gone in the aftermath of his confrontation with Tony. He hadn't even left the apartment yet, and already, he was screwing up his first day of high school.

"How about you?" Juan asked his younger sister, knowing that he should be the one looking after her, and not the other way around. Tony didn't beat up on her, though. Just him, and sometimes their Ma.

Tina made a face and pushed him off her bed. She shoved him out the door and slammed it shut behind him.

"I can take care of myself," she shouted. "Get walking, or you're gonna be late for school."

His little sister was a force to be reckoned with, had been since Juan could remember. If she wanted something, she went for it, no matter what obstacles were in her way. Juan wished he could be a little more like her sometimes.

"Thanks," he called through the door, and laughed when a loud thunk - no doubt her shoe - was the only answer he got.

He bypassed the kitchen, where his mother was frying up some eggs and bacon. There were a couple slices of burnt toast - liberally smeared with peanut butter and jam from packets that Juan had swiped from a local diner - sitting on a plate.

"Juan, honey, come sit down for breakfast," his mother said. She had a cigarette stub dangling from her lips, and was in the middle of flipping an egg. When she turned, Juan caught sight of a dark bruise along her jaw, and his vision blurred.

"I'm not hungry," he said, trying to keep his anger under control.

He fisted his hands and breathed in and out through his nose, the way that the boxing coach at the Y had instructed when he'd taken classes that summer. Tired of being bullied, he'd wanted to learn how to defend himself, but against someone like Tony, who outweighed him by a couple hundred pounds, he didn't stand a chance.

Juan knew that he couldn't best Tony, even if the man decided to fight fair for a change, but it didn't keep him from wanting to punch him. He held his breath and counted to ten, but the anger and the desire to beat Tony to a pulp for hitting his mother didn't ease any.

Tony was in the living room, watching TV, already working on his second beer. He didn't even look up when Juan walked past the living room to the front door. Didn't even acknowledge Juan's presence at all, just kept drinking his beer and watching some stupid cartoon on TV, laughing like a fucking retard.

Juan grabbed his backpack with a little more force than necessary, and swung it over his shoulder. He scowled in Tony's direction, and started when a hand landed on his shoulder. His mother shoved a brown paper bag into his hands, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, wiping off the lipstick she'd accidentally left on his cheek with her thumb.

"Smells like something's burning," Tony grunted, eyes rolling in their direction.

Juan was practically trembling in an effort to keep his temper under control. Heated words were forming in his mind, and nearly on his lips, but his mother shook her head and placed a finger on his lips.

"Have a good day at school, honey," his mother whispered, and she smiled and then walked back to the kitchen.

Juan turned away from Tony, barely resisting the urge that he had to tell the man to get off his fat ass and make his own damn breakfast. He was so angry about Tony that his nerves about his first day of high school had all but disappeared. It was with a scowl that he left the apartment, slamming the door behind him as he left, and ignoring the shouted warning from Tony that made its way through the thin walls.

* * *

Alex tossed a couple of Twinkies, a haphazardly constructed peanut butter, pickle, and cheese sandwich, a baggie filled with chips, most of which were broken or crushed, and two sodas into a brown paper bag and headed out the front door, ignoring his mother's shouted goodbye. He jumped on his bike, sans helmet, and revved the engine, gripped the brown paper bag tightly around the handlebar and sped off, his front wheel popping up off the ground.

He let out a whoop, and tore off along the road, sticking up his middle finger when Mrs. Newcomb peeked through the curtains of her front window and scowled at him. He grinned when the curtains swooshed back into place, but not before he caught the look of scandalized shock on the elderly woman's face. A little shock would probably do her a world of good, might make her a lot more

He turned his attention back to the road when the front wheel of his bike caught on something and his bike started to swerve toward the center line. He got it back under control and sped up, going well over the lame speed limit that was posted on the side streets. Twenty-five miles an hour was way too slow, and Alex took it as a suggestion, rather than a rule.

That's how Alex saw most rules - as suggestions, or as something to be broken. He didn't think that rules should apply to everyone, because not everyone was the same. School was always hammering home that point, and yet society was trying to put them all into the same damn box.

He felt free when he was on his bike, which had been a gift from his father on his tenth birthday. If a rusted out frame and a pile of parts, some of which weren't even meant for a bike, that could fit in a cardboard box could be considered a gift. It had taken him three years to gather the missing parts and put his bike together and then another year to get it in working order.

It was the only gift his father had given him that held any value for him. His mother had envisioned the bike as a project that would bring father and son together. That hadn't happened, and Alex was glad of it.

His father was a two-timing, drunk bastard, and Alex didn't want to owe the man anything. He had to carry the man's genetic material, but he'd be damned if he let his old man take pride in anything else that had to do with his upbringing.

As far as Alex was concerned, his mother was a single parent, raising him on her own. His father didn't deserve to be called a father, or a husband. If the man wasn't working, he was drinking, or fucking some whore, or beating on Alex and his wife. As far as Alex was concerned, the man should've taken out his frustration on the whores, not his son or wife.

Alex shook off his thoughts, pushed his bike to its max, and threw his arms out wide, riding the wind. He was flying. Maybe he'd get some weed from Herman, blow off school, and get high as a fucking kite. Though, if he did that, he wouldn't get to harass the freshmen on their first day of high school and scope out the fuckable babes.

He took the turn to the school, giving Principal Unser the finger on his way past the man. He came to a screeching halt in front of a group of girls and smiled when they gave him dirty looks.

* * *

Jax's head felt like it was going to explode, and he knew that he only had himself to blame for it. He liked drinking. Liked getting drunk and hanging out with Opie.

"Here." Opie handed him a pair of sunglasses, and Jax smiled at him in gratitude.

Opie always seemed to know what he needed, often before Jax even realized that he needed it. It was almost like Opie could read his mind, which didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought that it should.

"Thanks," Jax grunted, donning the sunglasses and resting his head on the back of the seat.

His throat had a tickle in it, and he wondered if he was coming down with the flu, again, or if it was just the aftermath of partying a little too hard the night before. He groaned, wondering why he'd thought it was a good idea to do suicide shots and drink a dozen, maybe more, beers. He thought he remembered pot factoring into the equation, but couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered now, when his head felt like it was going to explode.

The sunglasses were a godsend, and Jax wondered why he hadn't thought to grab his own before he'd left his house. Probably had something to do with the hammer and chisel act going on in his head.

_When are those pills going to kick in? _he wondered, closing his eyes and pressing the tips of his fingers to his temples. He rubbed small circles into his temples as he waited for the pain to subside.

He felt fingers at the back of his neck, massaging, and sighed because it felt good as tension seemed to bleed from his neck and shoulders. Tension he hadn't even realized, until that moment, was there. Opie's fingers were instruments of magic, and Jax moaned a little obscenely.

"God, that feels good," Jax murmured. "Fuck, Ope, I think I'm in love."

The fingers stilled, and Jax's heart slammed against his ribcage as he realized what he'd said. He swallowed the panic that rose in his gut, and wished that he'd kept a tighter reign on his tongue.

He laughed, like what he'd just said had been nothing more than a joke. It sounded hollow and fake in his own ears, and he worried that Opie could hear it - the fakeness. Worried that Opie would pull the car over to the side of the road and kick him out, make him walk the rest of the way to school. Worried that Opie would stop being his best friend if he knew the truth about his feelings for him, about how he sometimes lay awake at night and wondered what it would be like to sleep together, in the same bed, like they'd done when they were kids, except naked, limbs tangled together.

He relaxed and settled back in the seat when Opie resumed the massage. Kept his mouth firmly shut, and his eyes focused on the dashboard.

_Shit, almost blew it there, Teller,_ Jax chastised. If he wasn't careful, Opie was going to know that he maybe liked him a little more than he should.

Jax had spent the entire summer, when he hadn't been working at his father's shop, trying to sort out his feelings for his best friend, reasoning with himself that, even if it was okay for him to like another guy, Opie wouldn't feel the same way he did about him.

He'd dated girl after girl and gotten laid every chance he could get. Still, it hadn't erased the conflicting feelings he had for his best friend, hadn't removed the images that his mind had conjured up of what it would be like to kiss and maybe fool around with Opie in the backseat of his car, or in Opie's bedroom with the doors locked and the curtains pulled shut.

He breathed a little easier when Opie chuckled and said, "You just love me for my dashing good looks and my deft fingers."

"Yeah," Jax agreed, trying not to imagine what it would be like to have Opie's fingers working out some of the other kinks that he had. For now, he'd take what he could get, and let Opie's fingers take away some of the self-inflicted pain in his head.

* * *

Opie almost stopped breathing when he heard Jax say, "I think I'm in love," even though he knew that Jax hadn't really meant the words to be taken seriously.

They'd been spoken purely in response to Opie massaging his neck. They didn't mean anything. Even so, he felt himself blushing, and it was far too long before he continued to massage Jax's neck.

He tried playing it off like Jax's words hadn't meant anything to him either. Tried to play it cool, but the truth was that he kind of felt like saying the words himself.

Foolish.

He was being foolish.

And, fuck, fuck, fuck. If he wasn't careful he was going to creep out his best friend and send Jax running for the hills.

_Fuck my life_, the words were quickly becoming his new mantra. Life had gone from bad to worse in the span of a car ride to school.

Opie knew what Liz would say. His little sister's voice echoed in his head, mocking him. 'Just kiss him, you big dope.'

_Yeah, right, _Opie thought. _Just kiss him, and send him running for the hills. _

Liz didn't know what she was talking about, though. She didn't know what it was like to be in love with your best friend and not be able to say or do anything about it. She was just a kid. A nosy, stupid little kid who was a pain in the ass.

"Uh, Ope?" Jax's voice pulled him from his musings, and Opie looked in his direction, a smile ready on his face.

There was a crooked smile on Jax's lips, and Opie had an insane urge to reach across the seat and kiss him. Thankfully sanity prevailed and he returned his attention to the road, kept his hands firmly on the wheel, and ignored his stupid sister's teasing voice, the laughter that he conjured up in his head, and the aching in his gut.

"I think you missed the turn off, " Jas said. "The school's back that way."

He turned to look behind them, tapping the window, and Opie wished that something would swallow him. Anything would do. The car cushions, the dashboard, the floorboards, hell, a black hole appearing out of nowhere.

If he could die right now, his life would be so much easier. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks, but he did his best to shrug off the embarrassment.

If he hadn't been so focused on how Jax's skin had felt beneath the tips of his fingers, how the teen's tense muscles had given way beneath his ministrations, he wouldn't have missed the turn off to school.

He was good and royally fucked. Opie wondered if Jax had a clue. Prayed that he didn't, because he didn't want to lose his best friend over something like this.

The longer he downplayed his feelings and pushed aside his urges to kiss and touch and do other things with Jax, the easier it would get. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself. So far, it hadn't worked, but he had hope that, in the end, his trip down the river, denial, would work. He just couldn't stray from it.

Opie waited for a school us to pick up kids and then he made an illegal U-turn. Everyone did it. It was ridiculous to drive to the stop light ahead. Besides, there was no one else around, just some crazy kid on a motorcycle, and Opie'd waited for him to go on by before initiating the turn.

He wondered what it would be like to have a motorcycle. If it would be as freeing as he thought it would. It was a foolish dream, his mother would never let him get a motorcycle.. She was completely against them. Called them, 'death traps,' and, 'agents of the devil'.

The kid on the motorcycle turned into the school parking lot, just ahead of them, and then held up traffic to flirt with a group of girls. Opie rolled his eyes, and growing impatient, he honked his horn. The kid turned around, grinned widely, and gave Opie the finger, but stayed put. Jax returned the smile and the gesture.

_Great start to the first day of school_, Opie thought as he waited for the kid to finally move.

* * *

Please review and let me know if you like this, and if you want to read more. Thanks, reviews let me know if I should continue working on a story (and are greatly appreciated)


	3. From Bad to Worse

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out here. Hopefully there are people still reading, or interested in this story.

* * *

"Fuck." Alex shoved the boy who'd walked into him, sending the kid sprawling to the ground, and causing him to lose his backpack, and the lunch he'd been clutching to his side. "Watch where the fuck you're going, douche-bag."

It should have ended there, because Alex was an upperclassman, and judging by the looks of the kid who'd been studying his feet too closely to notice anyone around him, he was a lowly freshman. No way would someone in the lower echelons of the high school cesspool be challenging an upperclassman. It would be a stupid move on the kid's part.

Therefore, Alex was completely unprepared for what happened next. He was already smiling broadly, wiping his hands off on his jeans jacket. He was so focused on making sure that he still looked good and retrieving his own lunch- as well as the one that the kid had dropped. The idiot deserved it for walking into him in the first place. Asshole should've watched where he was going, not looking at the fucking sidewalk- the attack from behind took him completely by surprise. The kid screamed something unintelligible and slammed into him, causing the lunches to go flying, and Alex to bump into a group of students. He turned around, eager to pummel the kid and show him who was boss, but the kid was suddenly on him, throwing punch after punch like there was no tomorrow.

The kid was a scrawny thing, dark-hair and brown skin, thin as a rail and wild-eyed, but he packed one hell of a punch, and it was all that Alex could do to protect himself as he couldn't get a good shot in. Alex threw an arm up in front of his face, to avoid a broken nose or black eye.

"Get the fuck off me, cocksucker," Alex growled, shoving at the kid, no longer caring how he looked, or who was watching. He just wanted to get the kid off of him, and maybe get in a good punch or two before one of the teachers intervened. No way was the kid going to wind up the victor in all of this. No fucking way.

"Hey, that's enough, come on, stop already," several students were shouting and Alex could see, out of the corner of his eye, that there were two upperclassmen trying to pry the kid off of him. Two. It was a sobering thought, or would've been if Alex could think of anything other than exacting immediate revenge once the kid was pulled away and he could roll free of the boy's fists.

The boys who'd managed to pull the kid off of Alex were shaking the kid, trying to get him to back down, but the kid was too far gone and still spitting insults even though his arms were pinned to his side. He was kicking out with his feet, and trying to pull free, trying to attack Alex for a second time that morning.

Alex's lips stung, and when he raised his fingers to them, they came back bloody. Seeing red, literally and figuratively, Alex stopped thinking and walked up to the trio of boys - the two attempting to get the younger boy to back down were unaware of what was about to happen and unprepared to stop it once it did - and slammed a fist into the kid's gut. It would have doubled him over were it not for the boys holding onto him, keeping him in place. Alex wasted no time in striking the kid again, this time squarely on the jaw, snapping his head back. Alex hit the kid once more and blood spilled from his mouth.

"What the hell is going on here?" the voice of a teacher, Morrow, Alex's mind supplied, rang out, and the boys who'd been holding the kid suddenly let him go.

The kid dropped to the ground into a boneless heap and groaned. He pushed up on his elbows, but collapsed back onto the ground. Spitting out blood and gasping for air, he rolled onto his back and blinked up at the sky.

"Fuck," the kid moaned and he raised a shaky hand to his head and covered his eyes with it. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered, and Alex couldn't help but agree with the kid's self-assessment.

"Alright everyone, there's nothing here to see, get to class," Morrow said, shooing the onlookers who reluctantly left. The bell hadn't rung yet, but it would be ringing any minute now.

"Trager, Teller and Winston, stay right where you are," Morrow's voice kept them in place when the bell rang, kept Alex from picking up the discarded lunches and the kid's backpack.

"Why am I not surprised that you three are involved in an altercation on the first day of school?" Morrow asked, pulling off his sunglasses and kneeling so that he could get a good look at the downed kid, who, now that the adrenaline had worn off was lying there, still as death.

"Wasn't my fault," Alex said defensively. "The kid came at me like a fucking psycho."

"Language," Morrow said.

Alex rolled his eyes and gave the man the bird behind his back.

"I saw that, Trager," Morrow said, and it was all Alex could do not to repeat the gesture and add another one. Man was a fucking know it all prick. No way he saw that.

"We didn't do anything wrong, Mr. Morrow," said one of the boys who'd pulled the kid off of Alex. He had red hair that went down to his shoulders, and muscles to match his height. "We were just trying to help."

_Ass kisser,_ Alex thought and he snorted, knowing that Morrow would see right through it. The man might be an asshole, but he was a fair and honest asshole.

"Yeah, Winston, from what I saw, you two were helping alright. Helping Trager beat the crap out of a freshman," Morrow said dryly. "Everyone's gone now, you can get up, kid."

"It wasn't like that..." the wiry, blonde-haired boy spoke up, "we don't even know -"

Alex wanted to shove a fist down the boy's throat. _Fucking whiny-assed shit eater,_ Alex thought.

"Teller, I don't want to hear it," Morrow said. "You need a hand, kid?"

The kid still hadn't moved, and Alex was starting to get nervous. The kid had hit him first, all he did was act in self-defense, albeit after the fact, and when the kid had no way to defend himself, but, still, Alex didn't do anything wrong, considering the circumstances. He'd just done what anyone else in his place would have.

"Here, let me give you a hand," Alex said, crouching next to the kid and Morrow, not understanding why the fuck he was offering the kid his hand when the little fucker had tried to cave his face in a few minutes ago.

The kid smacked the offered hand away and snarled at Alex, revealing a mouthful of blood. "I can get up myself."

Alex raised his hands and backed away, shrugging. "Suit yourself, sunshine. Sooner you get up, sooner we can get to class."

The kid rolled over onto his side, and shoved Morrow's help off as well. He spit blood out onto the pavement and struggled to push himself upright. Alex hovered beside him, itching to help the kid up and get him moving. Not that he was all that eager to get to class or anything, but because now that he got a better look at the kid, he could see that he didn't look so good.

"What's your name, kid?" Morrow asked, hand held out to help in spite of the kid's rejection.

"Juan Carlos Ortiz," he mumbled, glaring at Morrow who merely smiled in response.

"Trager, take Ortiz to the nurse's office," Morrow said, gripping Ortiz by the wrist and hauling him to his feet in spite of his protests. The kid swayed, and elbowed Alex when he reached out to steady him. Apparently he was still pissed.

"Teller and Winston, let's take a trip down to the principal's office," Morrow said, gesturing for the two to walk ahead of him.

"Don't you have a class to teach?" blondie groused.

"It's your lucky day, Teller, my first period's free," Morrow said, shoving his sunglasses back on his face and grinning. "Now, walk."

"My mom's gonna to kill me," Winston muttered, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up in all sorts of funky directions.

"Yeah, well, your parents aren't personal friends of Mr. Morrow's," Teller said, shoulder bumping his friend.

"Guess you boys should've thought about that before you got into a fight. Less talking," Morrow bellowed. "More walking."

Alex and Ortiz were left behind, and Alex wondered if Morrow really expected him to get the brat to the nurse's station in one piece. The kid eyed him warily before taking a full step away from him and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"You heard the man," Alex said, jerking his chin in the direction of the front doors. Now that the fight was over, and he had a moment to consider what happened, he realized that his ribs were sore, and his lip was throbbing.

"I ain't going to the nurse." Ortiz wasn't looking at him, was already heading over to his backpack and lunch, which he stuffed into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder with a wince. He draped an arm across his stomach and nearly face planted when he turned and took a step in the direction of the school. If Alex hadn't caught him, he would have.

"Hey, dumb-ass," Alex said. "It's either the nurse or the principal's office right now, and I gotta tell you, the nurse is a whole hell of a lot hotter than the principal."

Ortiz shook his head and rolled his eyes, pulled free of Alex's hold and started walking. His gait wasn't steady, and Alex shook his head, now understanding why Morrow had assigned him with the task of taking the kid to the nurse. He clearly wanted to torture him.

"Look, I don't care if you go to the nurse or not, _sunshine_," Alex said, gripping Ortiz by the elbow and tugging him toward the school doors, fetching his lunch on the way. "You can rot and die in a pool of your own blood for all I care. But, it's my ass on the line, so, you're going."

"Get the fuck off of me," Ortiz said, his voice a low hiss. "I'm not a baby. I can walk myself."

"Well then start walking and stop tripping over your own damn feet," Alex growled, releasing Ortiz' elbow and inwardly groaning when the kid stumbled forward a few feet before clutching at the wall to regain his balance. He pushed off the wall, and walked a little more steadily. Alex couldn't wait for this day to be over. One good thing about this, though, his father was going to be proud of him for not backing down from a fight.

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Reviews would be greatly appreciated, and let me know if anyone is interested in reading more, especially after not having written for awhile. Thanks.


	4. Tea Parties and Life Stories

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Please forgive any typos - I'm trying not to be obsessive about grammar. Also, the OC's won't really feature much in this story. It's mostly about the boys and high school, which, I understand has just started up on the mainland for many people (we've been back at school for a couple of months now where I live). So, Happy Back to School, if anyone reading this happens to be a student, or a teacher.

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Juan was in deep shit, he had to find a way to evade Trager so that he could get out of going to the nurse. The nurse, if she was any good, would see that he had bruises that couldn't be explained away by his scuffle with Trager. He didn't need another run in with Child Protective Services (CPS). That one time, when he was five, was why he went to great pains to make sure that no one could see the marks left on him by whoever it was that his mother was dating at the time.

His stomach felt like it was on fire and his chin felt like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer rather than a fist. It wasn't anything new to him, but he could usually crawl beneath the covers of his bed and sleep the pain off after Tony'd used him as a punching bag. He didn't have that option here, though.

"Quit dragging your feet," Trager said, wincing and pressing fingers to his split lip. He stopped walking when Juan stalled at the entrance to another hallway.

"Don't even think about it," Trager said, as though he could read Juan's mind. "It may not look like it, but I can run, and you're not going to like it when I catch up to you.."

"Asshole," Juan muttered beneath his breath.

"Look, you were the one who attacked me, sunshine," Trager said, stopping so suddenly that Juan bumped into him for the second time that morning. "You got off easy. If Morrow hadn't come along when he did, you'd be dead."

Trager fisted the front of Juan's shirt and lifted him off of his feet. Juan tried not to panic, tried not to be afraid of the other boy, tried to tell himself, and then believe, that, because they were in a school the boy wouldn't do anything to him. In his past experience, though, kids did whatever they wanted, to whomever they wanted, and no one really got in trouble for it.

"Let me go," Juan said, struggling in Trager's hold, scratching at the boy's fists, because he _was_ starting to panic.

"Fine," Trager said, and he shoved Juan away from him, sending him sprawling to the floor.

The anger from earlier, mostly directed at Tony, had subsided, but Juan scrambled to his feet and got ready to fight anyway. He might have to take all of the crap that Tony dished out to him, because the man was bigger and stronger than him, and he provided shelter for his mother and sister, but he didn't have to take anything from bullies like Trager.

His days of taking crap from bullies were over. Juan wasn't going to let anyone push him around anymore. He hadn't known how to fight in middle school, but he knew how to fight now, and, after years of dealing with assholes like Tony, Juan figured that there wasn't anything that the jerks in school could really do to him which would be worse than what he'd already been through.

"What the hell is your problem anyway?" Trager asked grabbing Juan by the arm and pulling him along the hallway.

"_You're _my problem," Juan said, trying to shrug free of Trager's grip.

Trager laughed. "Gee, that's original."

"Why the fuck do you care if I go to the nurse anyway?" Juan asked, scowling.

"Watch your mouth, sunshine," Trager said. "You don't want a teacher to catch you swearing, do you?"

"I _still _don't see why I need to go to the nurse," Juan said, biting his tongue when Trager squeezed his cheeks with his fingers.

"What the fuck is that?" Trager said, wiping his fingers on Juan's hoodie, leaving a smear of his sister's foundation on it. "You wearing makeup?"

He looked sidelong at Juan and pulled back a little, though he didn't release his hold on Juan. "You a fag?" he asked, voice more curious than disgusted.

Juan shivered, and shook his head. "I ain't no fucking fag," he said, the very thought of another guy touching him like that made him sick to his stomach.

There'd been one boyfriend of his mother's who'd done some of that kind of stuff to him, a couple years ago, before his mother had met Tony. He'd touched him and other things that Juan refused to think about - told him that if he said anything about it, he'd kill him. Juan had believed him, hadn't uttered a single word about it.

In a lot of ways, Tony was better than Sam. At least Tony wasn't a sicko. He left him and Tina alone in _that _way. It was a relief, not having to sleep with one eye open, or a knife under his pillow.

"Easy, princess," Trager said, sniggering. "If you ain't a homo, or one of them emo kids, then how come you're wearing makeup?"

Juan bit his tongue. He didn't have to tell the older boy squat. It wasn't any business of his anyway.

"See, I think you're wearing makeup because, secretly, you're a queer, only maybe you don't realize it yet. Like, maybe you're conflicted or something," Trager mused aloud, lips pursed. "Or, maybe you're one of those kids that cuts themselves, what are they called...emo? You got cuts underneath all that crap you're wearing?"

Trager pulls at the sleeve of Juan's black hoodie, and Juan jerks his sleeve down. There aren't any cuts to be found there, but he doesn't like the thought of Trager making any more snap judgements about him.

There's just one long scar that runs from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. It had been an accident. The knife had slipped. His mother hadn't meant to do it. He'd gotten stitches. The doctor had asked so many questions that it made him dizzy at the time, but Juan had kept his mouth shut and clung to his mother's hand.

Juan rolled his eyes, wondering how a thug like Trager knew such big words like conflicted, and whether or not he'd seen the scar that Juan kept hidden. He didn't want to be asked any more questions.

"It's none of your business," he said, mindful of his tongue. Though Trager was a fucking hypocrite, he didn't want the older boy to call him out again.

"You like to wear dresses?" Trager asked, completely ignoring Juan. "Sometimes I put on a pair of girl's panties, you know, just to feel the silk and lace -"

"That's disgusting," Juan interrupted, wrinkling his nose and shuddering. "The only time I wore a dress was when my little sister, Tina, wanted to have a tea party, and..." Juan slammed a hand over his mouth and mentally scolded himself.

They'd been little kids at the time - he'd been six and his sister four. She hadn't been invited to a classmate's party and Juan had wanted to cheer her up. He hadn't really enjoyed himself - the dress had been scratchy against his skin, and he'd felt very 'exposed'. Overall, it wasn't an experience that he wanted to repeat, ever.

Trager chuckled and then steered him down another hallway. "Did you have finger sandwiches and crumpets?"

Juan felt like they were walking in a labyrinth or in circles, and he was starting to get worried. What was to stop Trager from stuffing him into a locker or into some closet and telling the principal that he'd run off?

Juan shook his head, and spoke without thinking,"It was a little kid tea party. We had crackers with peanut butter and jelly, and koolaid."

"Fuck, I ask for your life story?" Trager said gruffly, gently shaking him..

It wasn't really a question and Juan knew better than to treat it as one. Knew better than to open his big mouth again lest he say something even more stupid or get himself into even more trouble than he was already in. Tony had already promised him a beating for slamming the door that morning, what was he going to do when the principal called?

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Feedback would be greatly appreciated - coveted, valued.


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